


Beauty in Winter

by mythopathic



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms
Genre: Bestiality, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythopathic/pseuds/mythopathic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His tongue has trouble rolling the words but he speaks them every night nonetheless, "Will you marry me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty in Winter

**Author's Note:**

> For Porn Battle XIII. Beauty's POV.

He has the silky tawny pelt, the twisted horns, the sharp too many teeth, yes even the flickering tail, and the lace of his cuffs hides claws that chink against his wineglass. He bellows when he laughs and his droopy ears twitch when she is reading to him, (so many books she is reading to him). His tongue has trouble rolling the words but he speaks them every night nonetheless, "Will you marry me?"

 

Not yet.

 

What does the morning have in store for Beauty? With the winter comes the snow and the invisible hands have laid an arctic fox fur coat at the foot of her bed. The cold bites her face but doesn't scare her, there is a fire all ablaze waiting for her inside. She screams her joy at the white-topped conifers but they are not fazed by her. Beast roars and he makes them snow. "Beauty, will you marry me?"

 

Not yet.

 

She hides because she can, Beast's eyes can't see the fur covered Beauty for the whiteness of his land. "Beauty, come out," he calls and "Beauty, please," and "Beauty, I will find you." Then Beast is close, his breath is a cloud and Beauty runs, rolls and slides down the slope. Out of the corner of her eye the darkness of him moves so fast, it closes the distance, there's no point in running oh, but she'll never stop. He catches her of course he does and they roll and slide clutching each other down the slope. They rest still clutching each other. Beast combs her hair with his claws and Beauty fiddles with the wet lace on his cuffs, warming her numb fingers on his silky wrist. The feeling returns but with some pain. "Beauty, will you marry me?"

 

Not yet.

 

He is a man. Not a beast but Beast Beauty does not doubt it for all that she cannot feel his flesh except when her mouth meets his. His own rough tongue makes her skin tight and her nipples ache for wanting him. She drags her nails up his spine against the direction of his cool coat. Does he shiver? Can he feel her touch? Her nakedness is stark on him, she lets him turn her over and fuck her, envelope her, from behind so she cannot see but only feel. There is an end to the agony they are making a peak a threshold somewhere near. Beauty feels the prick of his teeth on the curve of her bare shoulder and turns around to straddle him.

 

Not fair not fair his mane reaches down to his shoulders so she pulls and he arches, and when she closes her eyes she breaks apart. Behind her eyelids she has a mane as well (the way her long hair dance against her breasts) she has grown a pelt and horns and sharp too many teeth.

 

"Beauty, Beauty, marry me," Beast says when he’s leaving. No, not yet. Not when the morning is so near.


End file.
